So, Thursday we had our yearly vet check up. I love my vet. They have been really awesome taking care of my cats, which is saying a lot because one of them is less than friendly. I mean, he’s nice to me. And to Chris. So long as we’re the only ones home…

So I load both cats into the car. Tiger (bad cat) is in his PLASTIC carrier. Cause sometimes he gets so worked up about cars and vet trips that he has an accident. Better safe than sorry. Also, I don’t want him panicking and running all over the interior of my SUV. Kthx. Oreo (good cat) is on his harness and leash. Walks right out to the car and I load him up.

Bad cat screams like he’s in agony the whole way. He’s got long hair so I have the a/c on his crate so he stays cool. Definitely not dying, although he’d swear he was. Good cat is hunting cars out the window. Hilarious.

We get to the vet. I unload bad cat’s crate and scoop up good cat since the cement is too hot for his little indoor paws (it’s been 105+ every day for a while now in Texas). Good cat REALLY WANTS TO WALK. AND NOT BE CARRIED. He’s scrambling and complaining but I don’t want him to burn his paws. We make it to the shade and I plop him down. He happily trots up to the door when I spot a huge Great Dane. And scoop him up again. He’d be less than a 1 bite snack.

We check in, and settle in the waiting room. Bad cat hisses at every movement and noise. Good cat wows everyone in the waiting room as he stays on my lap and purrs.

We go back to our room and good cat continues his stellar behavior. He’s checking out the room but careful not to jump up on anything other than chairs. He’s coming over to check in with me every so often. Bad cat cowers in his crate. No amount of talking and petting makes him feel any better. Sigh.

The vet comes in and good cat is a vet champ. Gets weighed in, gets his heart, lungs, teeth, etc checked and no issues. Bad cat’s turn. I try to coax him out of his crate, but there’s no way he’s coming out. I open the top lid, scruff him, and set him on the table. I keep him scruffed while she listens to his heart and lungs because he’s known to behave (kinda…enough) and then freak out. Good thing, too, because he totally freaks. Exam done, it’s time to get him weighed. He wants nothing to do with this, too, so I scruff him again and set him on the scale. He settles in (looks like he’s ready to do battle) and we get a weight. He swats at the Vet when she tries to record his weight on the chart. Ok, at least he’s done. We decide to leave him in the scale because he’s at least stopped growling. I talk to the vet about his crazy anxiety with people outside of me and the hubs, and she suggests Xanax. We’ve already tried a bunch of other stuff without a lot of luck. Currently we put both cats in a bedroom with a white noise maker so bad cat doesn’t realize people are here. Ignorance is bliss, right?

So now it’s time for shots…

Good cat looks like we hurt his feelings when they give him his shot, but he takes it in stride. He’s less hospitible for the fecal sample - but who can blame him, really. He gives kisses all around and retreats to sit in a chair and look out the window. Bad cat is so hostile that scruffing isn’t really working. The vet techs grab a towel and two of us hold him down while the third attempts to give him his shot. He screams like a banshee, all three of us let go, and he runs off the table and into his crate. At least he’s contained and not in a screaming, flailing panic in the room. I’ve seen that before and I don’t really want to see that again.

We decide the best option is just to give him his shot in his crate. The tech shuts the front door, tosses in a towel, pushes bad cat’s face into the corner so he doesn’t lose his arm, and gives him the fastest injection I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a bruise at the injection site, but bad cat didn’t leave us with many options. At least he’s got this year’s immunizations. Even though he’s an indoor cat I prefer being safe. We decide to forego the fecal sample because that would probably be even more traumatic for him.

He’s still so worked up that we can’t really get the crate closed, nor can we use the handle to pick it up. It’s weird because this is his 7th trip to the vet with me, and while he is never hospitible (he’s scared, and that’s ok), he’s never been this hostile. You’d think, by his actions and screaming, that we had been attempting to kill him behind closed doors.

I pay, apologise to those who had to deal with angry screaming cat, and they suggest Xanax before I bring him next time. I totally agree, this is too traumatic.

The worst part? I considered this trip a victory. He didn’t draw any blood. Or really bite. Just mostly screamed and swatted (claws in). And it was the first trip where he didn’t soil his crate.

Until the ride home.

But 30 minutes after arriving home, bad cat has had a bath and smells much better. He’s curled up next to me, purring and giving himself (and occasionally me) a bath. It’s like the whole traumatic trip never happened.

Vet trips are never easy, no matter how hard you try to make it so your fuzzies won’t get too anxious or upset. Le sigh.

At least they’re healthy, and with the new vaccines they are done with the vet for 3 years unless they need an emergency visit (fingers crossed that they won’t).

Ahh, what you’ll do for love. Can’t imagine life without these little guys.